


Fondest Imaginations

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: This one needed minor rewriting. Bridges was a little too much...





	Fondest Imaginations

When I was posted on the _Enterprise_ , I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I could finally escape the lingering doubts and insecurities that plagued me on the _Grummin_. I never thought my application would win me time on any of the larger ships. They wouldn't post me if I weren't up to it, right? The reviews and the assessments, and the notes logged in my personnel file -- the senior officers of the flagship had looked at those and deemed me fit. 

I stepped off the pad in transporter room two and Commander Data met me -- the things I've read about him. A one-of-a-kind android, with a sterling service record. And he waited for me in the transporter room as if I weren't just another lieutenant filling a position on his ship.

"I am Commander Data, the first officer," he said, in that carefully-enunciated way he has. Polite, and with a faint smile I didn't expect. His hand was cool when I shook it. "Welcome aboard. I will show you to your quarters."

"Thank you, Commander."

As we left the transporter room I noticed the attendant was L'norim. Those hound-faced humanoids seem to be everywhere these days. They make good officers, solid and dependable. I hoped maybe I'd get to know one well enough to find out more about his culture. No one seems to know a lot about them. A recent addition to the Federation, but they don't talk about themselves a lot. 

"Do you enjoy music, Lieutenant?" Data asked as we strolled down the corridors. I kept looking around, taking it all in, still a little in awe of my new posting. Then I realized I'd let too much time pass before answering.

"Sorry. Sure, I like music. I even play -- got my flute in my duffel."

"You may be interested in joining the classical ensemble. We have a number of musicians aboard, myself included. I am currently learning the clarinet."

We chatted for a bit about the ensemble -- people from all over the ship were in it, he said, including Mama Malia, of whom he was apparently fond. I found that highly amusing -- an android calling someone 'mama.'

He showed me the rooms that would be home for the duration of my life as an _Enterprise_ crewman. I dropped my bag and took a quick glance, and we were off to engineering. Commander LaForge was cordial, and I liked him right off the bat.

By the end of shift, I'd made a few friends in engineering and got an invite from some of the alpha shift for dinner, an impromptu welcome-aboard visit to the lounge. My hosts were a gangly fellow named Batris, a young woman named Priteri, and a guy who joined us when we got to the lounge, whose name I missed because at the instant of introduction, the most beautiful woman I'd laid eyes on in years walked by.

Betazoid. Eyes like pools of india ink -- the most expressive eyes you've ever seen. Her hair -- masses of black curls tied back in a professional way. I've always had a thing for women who kept their hair long. A lot of officer kept it short for convenience's sake. She wore her uniform, had three pips, but was in sciences blue, which meant she could also be medical or counseling staff. I didn't care for the gray/black design of the current duty uniforms, but I had to admit, the way it fit her made it look good. She wasn't the most well-endowed woman around, nor was she tall, but she carried herself like a queen.

I yanked my eyes back around to the person I was supposedly meeting, hoping no one noticed my eyeballs bugging, and grinned like an idiot.

I think I broke my own record for being dull at dinner. I kept looking around, pretending interest in every person who came in, just so I could sneak peeks at her. She sat near a viewport and made love to the biggest dish of chocolate decadence I'd ever seen, swiping her spoon around the inside of the bowl as if performing a ritual.

Chocolate. My secondary vice. I had to meet this woman.

I didn't dare ask who she was -- that would be a dead giveaway that the new guy was interested, and preliminary gossip could kill my chances. I had to wait until I got back to my quarters and call up the list of Betazoid crew, and found exactly one. Deanna Troi, Ship's Counselor. She'd taken the bridge test. She'd been aboard for years. A commander, but I'd dated a commander before, briefly. Rank made a difference only when it became a conflict of interest, as when lovers were in the same chain of command.

I couldn't look at anything but the public part of her file, but I knew I was going to love it on this ship for more reasons than just the prestige of it all.

 

* * *

 

"You didn't show up tonight."

"I had. . . someone. . . distract me," he gasped.

"Not like this, I hope."

He laughed with an uncharacteristic note of hysteria. "Hell, no. Don't say things like that when -- why are you talk -- "

"Ssshhh."

"Why did you stop?"

"It was easier to stop now than a few minutes from now. Just hold me. . . lovely sweaty creature that you are."

"Creature. Hm."

"Maybe not a creature. You're too much the gentleman. But I like that about you." Her lips made tiny ticklish tracks down his neck, her hands pressed against his chest to hold her up, and her curls brushed his shoulders. The room smelled like sex and perspiration; the taste of her lingered on his lips. He groaned at the torment of having her sitting on top of him, nibbling at him and making him endure the ache. He should be used to her tactics by now. She wasn't in any hurry.

Sometimes several days passed between these intense lovemaking sessions. This marked a week since the last one. They spent many nights in companionable, limb-tangled slumber, which in itself was still so new to him that he enjoyed it intensely. Some nights he'd wanted more but she'd been disinclined. That was fine; he was in no position to complain. He often found himself thinking about what they might do next but usually waited for her to take the lead. The anticipation was part of the game.

She was in control of his personal life now. As a younger man, relinquishing control this way would have been the last thing he wanted. But she wasn't just another bedmate for a few nights; she knew how to live with him, apparently sensing when he wanted time to himself, whether by instinct or empathy. He'd delegated many things to her professionally over the years and she'd always come through for him. This proved to be no different. It felt good to trust her with this part of his life and know that she wouldn't betray him, that she had his best interests at heart.

Actually, it was _their_ best interests. He was part of a 'they' -- it may not be something he could acknowledge openly in the sight of all and sundry, but he didn't want to. He wanted it all to himself. He wanted  _her_ all to himself. For the past month he'd taken up as much of her off-duty time as she gave him.

"I love you, Dee. My cygne."

Her throaty chuckle sounded almost like a purr. "I love you, Jean."

"I want you. . . ."

"Slow down, enjoy the moment. Don't be in such a hurry." Tossing her hair back, she kissed him, sucking on his lower lip briefly. Then she looked up, eyes wide. Her soft gasp tickled his lips. In the light of the single candle burning next to the bed, he saw her eyes roll back and close as his fingers found the hot, wet place where they were joined.

"As you wish, _cherie_. Anything you wish."

 

* * *

 

I met Deanna Troi at my routine appointment with her, on my second day aboard the ship. She was all business so I followed her example. We went through the routine counselor-makes-you-comfy stuff, then the standard questions. Counselors aren't just for when you're going crazy, they also want to see you when you first come aboard for a chat so they know who you are to begin with. I'd had two of these sessions on my last two postings, so I was a little startled that, when my mind wandered to Lena after the counselor asked about family and friends, she asked if I had a significant other.

"A what?"

"A girlfriend, a boyfriend. Or as Lieutenant Mav down in sickbay would put it, an 'object of your fondest imaginations.'"

"I had one. She accepted a posting on a scout," I replied. "That was four months ago. We broke up before she left. Why do you ask?" I smiled a little as I tailed the question along with as innocent a tone as I could manage.

"I could sense some lingering fondness when I asked about family, and a little sadness. Starfleet can make it difficult to foster close romantic relationships." She smiled -- oh, sweet lord, I was in love. The way her eyes lit up with warm twin glows, and the elegance of the way she carried herself.

Then it registered. "You could sense what I felt?"

"I'm an empath. It's a little different than what you might have come to expect from telepaths you have met. I sense emotions, not thoughts."

"Ah. I see. So do you have an object of your fondest imaginations?"

I thought she'd been beautiful before. The smile she had now was softer, more beautiful, and the dark eyes became soulful. But she said, "We aren't here to discuss me, Lieutenant Bridges."

I left her office a bit later, after more professionalism from us both. I resolved we would meet again soon. And not in her office. That last soft look had clinched my interest -- she said she could sense my emotions, and then she looked at me like that.

As I returned to engineering, I noticed LaForge was in his office doing routine administrative stuff, and leaned in his open door. "Sir?"

"Lieutenant." He turned from his monitor and smiled. "How's it going?"

"So far so good." I came a ways inside and stood before his desk. "You've been aboard for a while, haven't you?"

"Sometimes I surprise myself and think of exactly how long. The _Enterprise_ is a good place to be."

"I can tell. Just thought I'd let you know I got in from my appointment -- I'll get back to that sensor relay snafu." I turned to go, and hesitated. "The counselor's been aboard a while, too, hasn't she?"

"Yep. We both came aboard when the 1701-D was commissioned. Deanna's not your average counselor."

"Definitely not average. The last counselor I had wasn't Betazoid. But she's not average by Betazoid standards, either -- I've never seen eyes that expressive."

LaForge smirked. "It's probably because she's an empath."

"And most of the other counselors I've seen haven't been full commanders."

"You'll find there's a lot about the bridge officers on this ship that sets them apart from the norm." LaForge's smile turned polite professional.

I nodded and left his office. I wanted to find out more about what set one officer in particular apart. While I untangled the technicalities of a simple malfunction of an aft sensor relay, I whistled an old Orion love song I'd learned from a former roommate. Life was good.

 

* * *

 

Jean-Luc pretended interest in a padd while she dressed, sipping coffee at the bedroom table and watching her out of the corner of his eye. Everything she did, down to the way she brushed color on her cheeks, she did with an economy of movement -- deft and deliberate. Her pips went on with minute twitches of her fingers. A mist of perfume in the air -- she let the vapor fall on her instead of spraying it directly on her skin. The lip color went on in neat, precise strokes; burgundy this time.

He indulged in admiration of her while she walked through the room and picked up stray articles of clothing. She had his shoes lined up in the bottom of a closet in a moment or two. The book he'd left open beside the bed rejoined its fellows in the bookshelf. She bent over and rescued her own book from the floor where he'd knocked it last night when he'd interrupted her.

Finally, she came to sit next to him. Picking up the last bite of his croissant, she looked at his padd, smiling faintly. "Is it more understandable that way?"

Confused, he stared at her a moment, then looked down at the padd -- oh. He turned it right side up with a sigh and an embarrassed grin.

Her eyes laughed, but her smile made it tolerable. She picked up her dishes and leaned to give him her farewell-for-now brush of the lips. "At least I'm not the only one who feels that way. See you on the bridge."

"Hopefully I'll be able to turn myself right side out by then."

Shaking her head, she shot him a parting grin and dropped her dishes in the recycler on the way out. He heard the doors open and close when she left.

He lingered a bit longer, looking around at the differences in his quarters, mostly in the shrinking amount of space. The faint smell of her perfume lingered. The makeup and other womanly items on the dressing table, the growing collection of her clothing in the closet -- all signs of the process of his being domesticated.

Sniffing, he took his padd and headed for his bridge. Domesticated or not, he had a ship to run.

Geordi was on his way up to the bridge, too. They met in the lift. He had an atypically sober expression. "Something wrong, Geordi?"

"No, sir. Just. . . nothing, sir."

Jean-Luc studied his engineer -- he knew something was up. Working with someone that long gave one a sixth sense about things like that. "Everything all right in astrometrics?"

Geordi's face lit up briefly. "Wonderful, sir. Might have those 'recalibrations' done soon." He sobered again. "But. . . there might be something not quite right in engineering, and it's just a wild hunch, but it might make its way to the bridge."

The prospective girlfriend in astrometrics Geordi had been romancing for weeks had been the reason for very well-calibrated instruments, and none of his other work suffered -- quite the opposite, and as long as that was the case, the romance could continue to develop to a point at which it would go off duty. There was a fine line one walked in such things. Officially, Jean-Luc knew nothing about his crew's affiliations and assignations, but Geordi was also a friend. And now his friend was hinting at something.

"Does 'not quite right' happen to be new to the ship? A certain lieutenant, perhaps?" There was only one new crew member aboard, a replacement for a transfer to another ship. He'd seen a notation of the lieutenant's initial session with the counselor on her last report.

"When he got back to engineering after seeing her, he was lit up like a warp drive and asking questions about her. Don't tell me he's already bothered her."

Jean-Luc looked up at the indicator. Deck four and moving fast. "Not yet. Though it's certain she already knows how he feels. If you've noticed it already, she probably sensed it much earlier."

"Want me to talk to him?"

"That would not be appropriate. Leave it be. She can handle him."

 

* * *

 

I joined that ensemble. Those loose associations you make off duty can pay off in unexpected ways sometimes. I showed up for practice, flute in hand, and found myself confronted by a hodgepodge of people out of uniform. I'd noticed the crew's tendency to civvies while off duty and adopted the habit myself; on the off chance my dear counselor was a musician, I'd put on a pair of navy pants that fit ti and a short-sleeved white shirt with a few decorative folds here and there but gave a good idea of my dedication to the pursuit of physical fitness. Thanks to the length of time I took in selecting the outfit, I was late. I walked into the practice room and into the middle of the most haunting flute aria I'd heard in a long time.

Six people, Data included, stood listening to an older bald man play what looked like a recorder, but sounded like a flute. He had his eyes shut. Obviously focused on what he was doing, he didn't seem to hear the door. He played on, and I joined the rapt audience in mute appreciation of it. He finished on a low, tremulous note and lowered the flute, then looked up, his eyes going to the right and landing on a smiling middle-aged woman with dark hair and laughing brown eyes.

"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful," she cried, tucking her clarinet under her arm and beginning to clap. The others joined her; the flautist bowed, smiling and slightly embarrassed.

Data introduced me to the group. The mysterious Mama Malia was the woman with the clarinet, and the bald man was our captain. The piece he'd just played was his composition, which the group planned to transcribe and transpose melody and harmonies for the various instruments.

I babbled something inane -- the last person I expected to see in this setting, and there I was, shaking the hand of the captain of the _Enterprise_. The legendary Captain Picard.

Cordial and reserved are the first adjectives that come to mind when you meet him. There's a definite presence about him -- maybe I imagined it because of all I've heard about him, but I didn't think so. The rest of the ensemble laughed and chatted freely with him, and a few times he made a lighthearted remark himself. All of them obviously had a lot of respect for him and none but Malia called him by name. She called him Jean-Luc. To everyone else, he was 'sir' or 'captain.'

We worked our way through a concerto, and as a fellow flautist I stood next to the captain. He used different sheet music -- that alien flute played in a different key so he had a hand-transposed copy. My B-flat, garden-variety flute worked fine with the computer-generated music, so I got my own stand. My sight reading wasn't too shabby for not having played in a couple months.

Everything went smoothly for most of the session. Then the counselor walked in, and everyone's attention went to her. I didn't feel too self-conscious about indulging in a good look-see.

I like seeing the way a woman walks on and off duty. There wasn't much difference with her; she had a smooth stride and moved with the sureness of someone who knew everyone well. She still wore the uniform, though. When she came in, she sat in a chair along the wall, crossed her arms and legs, and waited. Childers, the bassoon player, resumed the attempt at an arpeggio.

I was too aware of her watching, and flubbed the next few tries. The captain called a halt at last. The group broke up into twos, Data and Malia trading clarinet shop talk, the bassoonist and cellist flirting with each other, the two violins starting a 'dueling mad violinists' contest in a corner, and the captain beat me to the counselor.

"Have you met Lieutenant Bridges?" he asked brightly, gesturing at me.

She rose, smiling in that wonderful 'I love everybody' way she has, and her eyes laughed. "Yes, sir, I have. You've been avoiding my reports, I see. I did have an appointment with him two days ago."

"I am _not_ avoiding your reports. I have them. . . somewhere."

One of her carefully-shaped eyebrows quirked up. "It might be easier to make another copy for you than to find them. Forward it through Admiral Nechayev so you'll pay attention, perhaps."

"You wouldn't do that to me," he said, feigning a scowl -- it was obvious he felt some friendly affection for her. "And just why are you running me down -- " He winced. "I was supposed to meet you. I'm sorry, I forgot -- it's Malia's fault. She waylaid me to discuss the program for the next concert."

"What are you blaming me for now?" Malia strode over assertively, pulling her clarinet into pieces as she eyed the captain.

"I was supposed to meet the counselor before practice, to discuss the upcoming meeting with the T'laikians. You kept me from it."

"Well, if you'd discuss ship's business on duty like any other crew member, she wouldn't have to come looking for you." Malia seemed about to laugh at it. "She's here, go discuss it and get it over with. Honestly!"

"Counselor," the captain said, pointing at the door with his flute. Deanna winked at Malia and left first. He followed, pulling even with her as the door closed behind them.

Malia sniffed. "That man. Letting his officers chase him down off duty that way." But it amused her more than anything else. She glanced at me, then at Data, who had put his instrument in its case and was ready to go. "You've known the captain for years -- has he always been that way?"

"Dedicated to his duty? Yes, he has." Data smiled -- I still had trouble with that, having expected something less emotional from him -- and turned to me. "Would you care to join us in the lounge for coffee?"

I went just to see if he would drink coffee with the rest of us. He did. And while we talked of concerts past, I saw that the captain and the counselor were there in the lounge too, sitting at a table near the middle of the bank of viewports with a beverage in front of him and a dish of ice cream in front of her. She ate slowly, making love to it as she had the first time I'd seen her, and something in the way she looked at the captain told me she wanted to do the same to him.

I felt a growing unease in the pit of my stomach. What was she doing? She was a senior officer! Surely she knew better than to make a play for the captain of the ship!

Or maybe I was misreading it? He wasn't reacting much. Most of the time he seemed more interested in the padd in front of him. Hell, even he would have to react if a woman like that showed real interest!

My group chatted about music and I out-lingered the rest of them. When I sat alone at last, I began running casual lines in my head, trying to think of one that would be benign yet carry the right message. Perhaps a simple friendly overture would be best. Once I got in close, I could see just how interested they really were in each other -- now that she'd finished the chocolate she didn't seem to be looking at him that way any more.

I smiled at a few people on my way to the bar, dropped off my empty glass, turned as if to go, and managed to catch her eye. Their table wasn't far from me; I took the few steps and smiled. "Excuse me, Counselor, Captain."

"Hello again, Lieutenant," the counselor said.

"I was wondering. . . are there any clubs that focus on hobbies aboard? I participated in a chess club on the _Grummin_ , and I was thinking on a ship this large maybe there'd be something like that, or even a modeling club." The counselor would know about something like clubs, certainly.

She exchanged a look with the captain. "Modeling?"

"Sure. Sailing ships in bottles, scale models of starships. . . I have scale models of the Sol system, Epsilon Eridani, and several others, including space stations and dockyards. All hand-made."

"How would you make a scale model of a solar system that would fit in your quarters? With the distances involved the planets would have to be tiny."

The captain sounded genuinely interested. The counselor looked amused at his enthusiasm. That was great, go to pick up a girl and get the CO. I was doing  _so_ well.

"It's all in how you position the planets, and you're right, they have to be small. I've started a series of starships -- the hard-to-find kind. I'm having a little trouble finding references that will help me with authentic Romulan warbirds."

And wouldn't it be my luck, he knew what authentic warbirds looked like. Of course he did -- what a dunce I was being. At least I ended up sitting at the same table with the object of my fondest imaginations, even if she looked bored by the time it got down to locations of phaser and sensor arrays.

She excused herself after half an hour. In spite of myself, I enjoyed the remainder of my conversation with the captain, whose interests were so far-ranging that I could pick anything to do with the ship or space and he'd know something about it. Pretty soon I started introducing loosely-related things in the conversation, and by the end of an hour we'd gone from model space ships to agriculture.

Then he blinked, and got a look on his face that said he'd remembered something he'd forgotten. Second time he'd forgotten something that night -- he was a busy man. He took his padd and left, telling me we'd have to talk again some time, possibly after the next practice.

At least I'd made friends with the CO. That was a good thing. He was obviously friends with Deanna Troi, but if it were more than that, would he have involved himself in such protracted conversation with me? Most women would have resented the intrusion. Maybe if I befriended one bridge officer the others would follow.

I went to my new quarters and settled in for the night. Visions of Betazoid eyes stuck with me into my dreams. Maybe next time I saw her, she'd be in civvies. Maybe I could talk about something other than hobbies in her presence.

 

* * *

 

She was asleep already when he came in. He stood in the dark bedroom a few moments, watching her sleep, the warp-blurred stars giving just enough light to see by. Quietly he undressed and slipped under the covers. Hands beneath his head, he stared out the viewports.

Bridges was interested in Deanna -- the way he looked at her when she came in the practice room had immediately set Jean-Luc on edge. He'd had a tough time not imagining how satisfying it would be to jam Bridges' flute up his nose. A visceral reaction -- the first time he'd actually experienced such an emotion. The first time another man had shown such intense interest in her.

Jean-Luc was certain their relationship was well-known among the crew. This was only Bridges' second day aboard. Surely he would hear about it soon and leave her alone. The lieutenant wasn't unpleasant or slow-witted; the conversation in the lounge had been engaging, interesting, and had gotten out of hand because of that. Jean-Luc had focused on politeness and kept his attention firmly on the fact that this was a member of his crew who had done nothing wrong, who didn't know anything about Deanna. It occurred to him only after she'd left what she might think of his sudden attention to Bridges.

No, she wouldn't think, she'd feel. And the feelings of women sometimes made no rational sense, as anyone who'd spent any time at all in intimate conversation with one could tell you. And sometimes finding out what Deanna _really_ felt was harder than handling plasma from the warp core. Only a month into the relationship and he knew that already. If she thought something might hurt him, she'd keep it to herself, and prying it out of her would be only slightly less difficult than winning a wrestling match with Lana'hai.

She stirred, and the light snoring stopped. A few minutes later, she rolled on her back, her elbow colliding with his ribs. "Sorry. I fell asleep waiting for you."

"I'm sorry -- I lost track of time."

"Did you enjoy your chat with the lieutenant?"

She didn't _sound_ upset. "Yes. It got me no closer to being able to pronounce T'laikian greetings, but it was an interesting diversion. Where did you get to?"

"I felt out of place. I wasn't necessary to the conversation so I came here and tried to read."

There was a soft hollowness to her words. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'd been seeing you as counselor, and we were talking about work. I didn't mean to be so rude."

"You weren't rude. He's new, and you were being cordial." Still fainter than she should be. She'd been bothered by something, whether it was Bridges or his own behavior. But she, like him, was handling it well.

To reassure both of them, he reached for her. She yielded without hesitation, settling in his arm and nestling close against him. Warmth wrapped in silk, smelling faintly of sweet flowers. Her hair felt soft on his bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, kissing the top of her head. "Tomorrow night I'll do better."

"You don't have to do better -- you didn't do anything wrong. Why do you feel so guilty?"

"I was enjoying our conversation until he showed up. I enjoyed watching you eat chocolate ice cream, even if I felt a bit jealous of it." He snorted. "Did I just say I was jealous of ice cream? You see how far off the deep end you've sent me?"

Her head came up slowly. Her lips grazed his jaw, then found his mouth, and her tongue asked permission. Suddenly his entire body went on alert; he eagerly opened his teeth, tangled his fingers in her hair, and lost himself in bliss.

_I can't believe this is real. I hope I never wake up if it isn't._

She pulled away, panting slightly. "What did you say?"

"You said you couldn't read thoughts," he blurted.

"I usually can't hear. . . . Did you say you couldn't believe this is real?"

She almost moved away. "Stay. Yes, I thought that. I felt -- you know how I feel."

"You're afraid. I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"I'm not afraid of you. It's more of the randomness of it. I'd hate if you heard something and misunderstood it. . . ."

The starlight outlined her hair and cast her face in darkness. "I've only heard an actual thought twice. At least I think so."

"Twice. When was the other time?" He put gentle pressure on the back of her head, trying to bring her back down to him.

"In the restaurant on leave. I thought I heard you say you love me."

"Just before we left. Yes. I actually tried -- you were surprised."

Deanna hesitated for a few moments, then kissed him again. _I love you._

_Inside out._

Her manner turned aggressive, but she wasn't violent. Just more assertive than usual. Giving in seemed the best thing to do, and the most enjoyable.

Afterward, she curled up on his chest. He knew she was smiling, without having to see it. Leaving an arm around her, he tucked his right hand under his head and basked in the satisfaction of knowing he would have her there again, and again.

"Tomorrow," he said, still slightly hoarse from the exercise.

"What about it?" she mumbled.

"After shift. The holodeck. Think about where you would like to go." Bridges wouldn't be able to distract him in the holodeck.

The silent tickle of unvoiced laughter -- he felt it more strongly than before and wondered if she'd read the thought. "I'm already where I want to be. But I'll think of somewhere I'd also like to be."

"I'm sure it will be wonderful."

 

* * *

 

After a week aboard the *Enterprise* I finally got the nerve to start asking questions about her.

I was put on beta shift. Figuring higher-rankers would be less likely to share useful gossip, I decided to try a conversation with a cadet I saw when I ventured into main engineering to check in with the officer of the watch. About twenty-two or so, I guessed. She seemed to know what she was doing but I noticed the others on shift gave her a bit of the cold shoulder treatment. I figured if anyone under the rank of lieutenant-commander had occasion to talk to a counselor, it would be someone like that -- a bit of a square peg. I introduced myself one night, then the second night, I tried conversation. Her name was Natalia Greenman.

"How long have you been aboard?" I asked, after a cursory greeting.

"Almost three months." She turned to look at a readout near her head. "Excuse me, but I have work to do -- if you want to talk we can do it on break."

I recognized the Command Cadet Syndrome at once, and backed off. Cadets who had command as their goal could be martinets. When mid-shift meal break came around, I approached again as she left. We walked down the corridor toward the nearest lift.

"So what's it like on the flagship? I've only been here a week. The senior staff friendly, or standoffish?"

Her slight smile broke through the stone her face had been. "Respect and professionalism on duty, and friendly off. Where were you posted last?"

"The _Grummin_. The captain's a real micro-manager -- got to have his finger in everything. On a ship this big I guess that isn't possible, but Captain Picard doesn't seem the type to do it anyway. First officer seems polite but a bit stiff."

"He's an android. Once you get used to him, he's all right." She liked the android, I could tell.

"Counselor seems _really_ nice. I guess that's part of her job."

"Naw. She'd be really nice no matter what she did. Counselor Troi is one of those people who's beautiful inside and out. I'll bet half the crew is in love with her."

"Only half?" I tried to make it sound casual as I could.

She eyed me critically. "Well, some of the folks on this ship are actually paired off, you know. And some have different ideas of beautiful -- I'd be surprised if the security chief thought she was pretty. Who knows what L'norim think is beautiful?"

"Good point."

"Anyway, she's probably used to the admirers by now, not that she pays any attention -- deck twelve," she said as we entered the lift. At my curious look, she explained. "I'm going to the gym. I was so busy earlier I didn't have the chance -- I have just enough time for a workout, a shower, and a bite to eat before we have to be back."

Curiosity drove me to go with her. After a brief visit to the appropriate changing rooms, she explained her routine and I went along with her -- I hadn't seen this part of the ship and I was duly impressed by the size of the facility. Of course, giving the crew a nice large place to work off tension and stay fit was in the best interests of everyone -- a weight machine used a lot less energy than a holodeck; tracks and aerobics rooms and places to perform martial arts used none.

That girl could move! I could see how she could cram a workout into a break. I'd put off reacquainting myself with athletics, and it'd been a month since my last real workout -- it showed. Greenman had me sweating by the end of the warmups, and when we entered the weight room, there were only two other people there. I had no idea who they were, but they ignored us. I got too ambitious. I hate that kneejerk show-off instinct that kicks in when a pretty girl is in the room. Sometimes it gets you in real trouble.

She left me at the door to the shower room with a 'see you in engineering' and I showered with more leisure than I should have, but the muscles in my back loved the hot water I'd splurged to get. Sonics would do the job but I felt like hell. They charged for water in the public showers so people wouldn't leave them running and waste resources, but I didn't care. I put my uniform back on and couldn't find one of my pips. That meant a stop at a replicator. The one near the exit would do. And as I put on the replacement pip and turned for the door, I heard his laughter -- the captain was in the gym.

They were together again. The counselor was in a martial arts outfit, white with a tightly-cinched white belt that showed off her figure. Barefoot. He had workout grays on, and they were talking to a small group of people, one of them L'norim. She stood next to him, and for a few moments things looked grim for me, but when she turned and went down a corridor, the L'norim and two others followed her, then the captain headed for the equipment desk with the others. I heard him request equipment for a game I'd never heard of, and the four of them were heading down a different corridor with racquets when I came out of the shower room.

I glanced at the equipment desk. A stranger there -- not likely to be anyone I'd work with on a regular basis. She was putting her hair in a pony tail and reaching for a long stick with padded ends when I approached.

"Hi -- maybe you could help me out? Do you know who the Betazoid in white who was just here was?"

"You're new on board, aren't you?" She turned around. Her name tag said 'Rhonda.' "That's Counselor Troi."

"You know if she's seeing anyone?"

The girl shrugged appealingly, making the name tag jiggle a little. "Got no idea. I see her in and out of here with all kinds of people, most often the captain or the security chief. She's into martial arts. Gossip has it she's got something going with the captain, but before that she supposedly had something with the first officer -- but he's left the ship and now Data's in that position, so maybe people figure she wouldn't go for an android and took up with the captain. Couldn't tell you, really. Why don't you ask her?"

"Thanks." I went down the corridor the counselor's group had taken. Gossip about the senior officers wasn't unusual. The blase answer told me it was probably just conjecture. Surely if there were anything to it there would be more gossip than that. A captain having a fling with a crew member would be hot gossip; a captain with a fellow bridge officer would surely be the talk of the ship, if not the fleet. Especially when the captain was Captain Picard.

They were in a large room with mats on the floor. I peered around the edge of the door. Deanna was shorter than the rest of them, I noticed, and had her hair in a tight braid, to keep it out of her way. She seemed to be leading them through warmups. She rose slowly from the floor, where they'd been stretching their legs. They went through a series of kicks and it was easy to see she could have busted my nose with her foot easily, even if she was shorter. She'd obviously been doing this for years; she was completely comfortable with the movements and had incredible flexibility.

"Greenman to Bridges," came a voice over my badge, making me jump back from my eavesdropping.

"Bridges here."

"Coming back any time soon?"

"Oh, hell. Thanks. I owe you one. Bridges out."

I ran. Unfortunately, too fast. I couldn't stop myself when the captain appeared in my line of vision, walking through the foyer area holding a busted racquet.

I don't think I've hugged a commanding officer before, and I don't think I'll ever do it again. I wouldn't have done it that time, except reflexes prevailed and falling down was something I preferred to avoid most of the time -- though in hindsight I should've just broken a bone or something, it would have been less embarrassing than doing the frenzied little grab-and-spin thing with Captain Picard. My momentum kept me going forward, hanging on to him made him pivot, and then I was off and racing, hoping to God that he hadn't recognized me.

"Lieutenant!"

Oh, I was in for it. I thought I heard the deckplates rattle.

Skidding to a halt, I double-timed it back and came to attention. "Sir?"

"Did you hear a red alert that I didn't?" Hard, clipped tone. Eyes ready to bore holes in the walls. Visions of being slammed into a torpedo casing and shot Earthward danced in my head.

"No, sir!"

"Is something wrong, Captain?"

Second embarrassing thing in a row -- I jumped almost four feet off the floor at the sound of the counselor's velvety, musical voice, laced with whimsy.

"Other than nearly being flattened by a flying lieutenant, no," Picard exclaimed, slightly less angry than before. "Bridges, get the hell back to where you're supposed to be, and stop running around without looking where you're going!"

"Yes, sir!"

I hotfooted it out of there while the getting was good, and wondered what capricious turn of fate had brought her out at that instant to witness me get yelled at -- but then, if she hadn't been there, I might have had a worse dressing-down than that. I spent my sprint back to engineering thinking of an excuse for being late, and tried to think of what I could do to get a chocolate-loving martial artist to notice me in a more productive fashion.

I'd have to try a more direct approach -- but after a few days had passed, to give both of us time to put that embarrassing little stunt out of our minds.

 

* * *

 

She came in with another armful of clothes. He watched her from the bed where he was re-reading her briefing on the T'laikians. "We're going to run out of room."

"I suppose I'll have to clean out some of your old clothes." The ones she put in the closet were filling what little space was left as she spoke.

"My clothes? You're saying none of yours are old?"

"Not really." She stared at the contents of the closet pensively. She'd been pensive a lot lately, and over such a wide variety of things that he thought he could guess what was really going on.

"You haven't said a word about Bridges lately. He's been leering at you again, hasn't he? Almost two weeks and he still hasn't worked up the nerve. I wish you'd just tell him off in Klingon or something and get it over with."

"I can't do anything unless he does, Jean-Luc. You know that." Her immediate answer told him it was at the forefront of her thoughts, as he'd guessed. "I can't start turning on every man who feels a bit of an attraction for me. I'd alienate. . . ."

"Half the crew," he finished. "I can't blame them for looking. As long as they don't touch, or ogle as openly as Bridges does, I can live with it."

Deanna tugged the simple pink dress off over her head, dropped it on the back of a chair, and ran across the room. He managed to put aside the padd before she sprawled on him, wriggling and nibbling on his ear.

"What is _this_ all about?" he exclaimed, spitting out curls and fighting with her hands over keeping his jacket on.

She tossed her hair back and eyed him at close range. "You didn't complain the last time I did this."

"You've apparently forgotten something."

"What have I forgotten?"

"The play?"

"Oh! But you don't want to go in uniform, do you?"

He chuckled as she wrestled his shirt up over his head. "Is that a choice or a rhetorical question? Watch what you're doing -- get me excited and you may not get to see Kenny's debut as 'small child walking down the street.'"

She lay quietly against him for a while, head on his bare chest, her ear over his heart. He waited, but she didn't move or make a sound. Finally he patted her back and held her tighter. "Dee?"

"Shh."

"What are you doing?"

She rolled off so suddenly it left him in shock. Sitting up, he watched her grab the discarded dress and disappear into the bathroom. A few moments of sonic shower later, she emerged wearing the pink dress and tying back her hair. "We're going to be late."

"Is there something going on? You seem... moody."

"Do you want to go to the play or not?" She put her hands on her hips and scowled.

Swinging his legs off the edge of the bed, he tried not to be concerned as he felt. He thought about Bridges, and some of the other officers aboard -- men and women who were less than half his age, all. He thought about the look on Bridges' face, when he'd looked at Deanna. While Jean-Luc sat looking at the floor, she came to him again, sidling up next to him and pushing herself into his arms.

"We can go tomorrow. It runs for a week, after all," he whispered.

"We should go for the first showing. Kenny would be disappointed if you weren't there."

"Excuse me for being a little more concerned about you than Kenny."

She stopped trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs and ran her fingers through her hair, regaining her composure while he regained his shirt. "I'm all right."

"I know. So am I. You know that, too, I hope?"

"Yes." She interfered with the closing of his jacket, grabbing the material and pulling him closer to kiss him on the lips. "I do know."

"You don't have to -- " He cut himself short and sighed, gripping her shoulders. "I'm not going to do anything about Bridges, but I do want to know why you're feeling this way. Something is obviously going on and you aren't talking to me about it."

"I don't think this is the time, honestly." Her cheeks seemed a little more pink than usual. She looked down at her hands in her lap. "But he does bother me, and while I still don't want anything done about him, I wish that I could. Honestly, I have been worrying all along in the back of my mind that something would happen to upset what we have together. I suppose it's a byproduct of being too happy for an extended period of time that I'm looking for things to go wrong?"

"I can see how that might be so, given our occupation." He slid his hands down her arms and took hers, gripping her fingers. "And I'm doing the same thing, though not with as much anxiety. I'm feeling very fortunate and hoping I don't wake up and find I've been dreaming all of this."

"That's easy. You're awake and happy, and so am I." Her smile turned sly.

"Can't imagine what I'd have to be happy about."

"I love it when you talk like that."

"Like what?"

"With the light in your eyes, and the smile in your voice."

"That's a good thing, since you seem to put them there consistently. I'd hate to annoy you."

She gave him a deep-dimpled smile and wiped her thumb across his lips. "That would never annoy me. Wearing my lipstick, yes."

"You see, that annoys me, too. We have a lot in common."

"In some respects. But I enjoy the differences just as much."

"Yes, I've noticed. Sometimes until they're sore."

"Not now, we have a play to attend."

"Yes, ma'am."

But she dropped her hand into his, leaned on his shoulder, and sat that way for a few moments. Closing his eyes, he put his face in her curls and tried to memorize the feel of her hair against his skin, the smell of her perfume mixed with the scent of her skin.

"Bridge to captain," came the voice of Mendez, who stood watch on the bridge. "Incoming message from Command."

"On my way." His head had come up at the beginning of the hail. He kissed her, getting a taste of hair for being random, and she let him go. "I'll try to make it for the second act."

"If it's Admiral Goodacre, it may take longer," she said acerbically. "But I'll try to save you a seat."

 

* * *

 

I was on my third week on the _Enterprise_ and getting closer to my goal. I managed to exchange greetings with the counselor a few times by hanging out in the lounge with padds to study through the alpha shift lunch hour. She came in and spent the break with a few different people. The few times I ventured close enough to hear they seemed involved in discussions of 'working-with-so-and-so-is-hard' stuff. When did she stop being a counselor? Maybe she didn't sound like she was conducting a real formal session, but it sure sounded like less of a friendly encounter and more of a working lunch.

Except for that one day she came in with Data, Ward Carlisle, and deLio. Then she actually seemed to relax. The four of them ate together, going silent when anyone walked too close to the table. Something mission-critical, maybe, but the lounge was a weird place to discuss it and she didn't seem as serious as during her other lunches -- she laughed at things the others said, and they laughed, too.

On my thirteenth day aboard, a bunch of us from engineering went to the opening night of the play "Our Town" because LaForge had a speaking part in it. So did Malia's son Kenny -- he wandered around the audience before the play started in his street urchin costume. Cute kid. Looks a lot like his mother.

The counselor came in and sat next to Malia in the third row center, and there was a seat left open next to her on the aisle. I lingered around the back and pretended to wait for someone. I was surprised to see no one took the open seat. My lucky day. When it was just a few moments to curtain time and all the players had disappeared backstage, I took a chance. Casual as I could, I walked down the aisle, hesitated next to the empty seat, and leaned over.

"This seat taken?"

She looked up from the program she was reading. That pink dress she wore was tight enough to show off her figure. It wasn't the washed-out pastel kind of pink, either, but a deep strong one that reminded me of the insulation they used in the walls of jeffries tubes. With her fair skin and dark eyes she could probably wear anything.

Her sad smile made me worry a moment, but then she said, "No."

I sat down. The gods had smiled upon me.

The curtains went up, and the play began. I read the program, which provided a lengthy introduction to the history surrounding the events -- not being a history buff, some of the allusions in the explanation escaped me. Midway through act one, I heard Malia whispering something. In Deanna's ear, I saw with a glance. She shook her head and replied in very low tones that I barely heard, "He had to go to the bridge. There was a message from Command. He asked me to apologize. . . ."

Ah. So the seat had been taken, but was no longer. Hmmm. . . could have been the first officer, or the captain. I didn't see either of them before the lights went down. We sat through the rest of the first half in silence, while actors played their parts.

During the intermission Malia got up and went backstage to see her son. Deanna paged through the program and seemed frustrated by it.

"Something wrong?"

She glanced at me as if startled, then shook her head. "I suppose it's just me who doesn't understand the premise of this play?"

"It was written a long time ago. I don't think any of us could really understand the mindset of the period." I smiled and propped my elbows on the arms of the seat. "I notice you seem to like chocolate."

"You do?" She turned back to the program.

"Well, the few times I've seen you in the lounge you were eating something chocolate. I'm a fan of the flavor myself."

"You should try the double fudge chocolate mousse sundae. Without the marshmallow -- it only dilutes the flavor."

We exchanged chocolate recipes, likes and dislikes, and I finally got up the nerve to change the subject to something a little more risky. "I hope the captain doesn't hold grudges too long."

The amused smile made its appearance. "No, he doesn't. You're referring to nearly knocking him down?"

"I went down for a workout on my break with Cadet Greenman -- nice girl. Unfortunately I took a little too much time in the shower and made myself late."

She pursed her lips as if to keep herself silent. A moment passed. "We do have a morning mok'bara class, if you're interested. The four of us were only working out to prepare for the next testing. I'm about to move to my next rank."

"Oh. Wow," I stammered, trying to recover from conversational whiplash. She must've heard my comm badge when I'd been standing outside the practice room. "I mean, what rank -- what's mok'bara?"

"A Klingon martial art. I started taking lessons. . . too many years ago. Our security chief on the 1701-D was Klingon. It's taken forever, but I've finally met the requirements for my next rank. It was the bat'leth that held me up -- I had to learn some of the more difficult weapons forms."

"Okaaaayyy. . . so you're what rank?"

"wa'maH. I'll be able to teach classes myself. It's the equivalent of a black belt in Terran karate -- or so I'm told."

"So this is something you like doing, obviously." I asked some more martial arts questions, using the year of karate I'd had back at the Academy for reference, and learned quite a bit about mok'bara.

There's a point at which a guy knows the girl just isn't interested in him. I couldn't figure out whether I'd reached it or not. She looked at me, smiled, kept talking and listening, but without great enthusiasm. I wondered if it was me or some work-related concern preying on her mind -- maybe whatever had called the person who was supposed to sit in my chair to the bridge.

Then the play started again, Malia returned as the lights went down, and Deanna had a short whispered conversation about Kenny before settling in to watch. After the curtain came down and the players came out for taking bows, she excused herself, edged out of the row with Malia, and went to talk to the actors. She spent some time talking to LaForge. Obviously another good friend of hers. Senior staff on any ship could get close -- as could any group of officers who worked together for more than a few months. I'd been close to my department on my last posting. She gripped his arm and smiled warmly, and I began to wonder if I'd imagined things in the beginning when she'd looked at me that way in her office. It was that same warmth -- she seemed to show it to everyone.

I went up too, managing to slip in a compliment on my department head's performance. He gave me an odd look and thanked me politely. Then he went over to where the counselor was laughing with Kenny. She rose from the crouch she'd dropped into to make eye-to-eye contact with the five-year-old, then after a few words from LaForge, she nodded, turned away, and went up the side aisle toward the back of the room.

Kenny yelled something I couldn't make out, dashed up the aisle, brushed past the counselor, and leaped at the captain, who stood at the back of the room. Picard smiled at the little boy leaning on his leg. Malia followed her son at a more sedate pace.

I went up the center aisle. Not a total loss, but not much of a gain. But these things took time. Until then, I had my imagination, and the memory of those big dark eyes.

 

* * *

 

They walked down a corridor on deck sixteen. Not the most populated of decks, and in the waning hours of beta shift, the lighting had dimmed. Ship's night was in progress.

He wanted to touch her. He didn't dare, not even here and now. Not in public this way.

She walked -- puttered, actually, weaving a little, swinging her feet wider than usual and knitting her fingers behind her back. Chin tucked, and the fall of curls from the clasp in her hair swaying. Eyes half-closed, long thick lashes obscuring her pupils.

That Bridges fellow was bothering her. When Jean-Luc had come in late, halfway through act two, and seen the man sitting next to her, he'd wanted to race down and kick the lieutenant from one end of the ship to the other. He'd stood in the back cursing the admiral silently for a discussion that really _could_ have waited until the following morning. Then, realizing Deanna could sense his anger, he worked through it and let it go. She wasn't doing anything with Bridges that she wouldn't do with anyone else -- in fact, she leaned slightly away from him. Her behavior wasn't the problem. And by the end of intermission, he'd settled into grim acceptance that he could do none of the things he felt like doing.

But as he refocused on a more composed frame of mind, concentrated on her and what they would do after the show -- another trip to the holodeck, perhaps, or a quiet night of listening to music in their quarters, something to take her mind off the nuisance lieutenant -- it came to him that she felt badly. A little guilty, even distressed. He watched her silhouette in the theater, the way her head tilted ever so slightly away from Bridges, and thought it couldn't be his imagination. He could _feel_ her dismay the same way he sometimes could tell she held in laughter.

He had slipped out with an idea forming and returned by the final curtain to congratulate Kenny on a job well done. On the way to dinner she'd apologized too softly for not saving his seat; she'd thought it better to be friendly until Bridges made an overt move, and the distress in her eyes told him his hunch had been correct. This was upsetting her too much; the fool couldn't seem to find the nerve to speak up. Action had to be taken.

After dinner, he invited her along on his semi-regular walk around the ship. Her guilt over giving his seat to the lieutenant had lent her the impetus to overcome her hesitation over being seen with him so much. She was so careful over appearances, more careful than he thought she needed to be sometimes.

They turned a corner, and he veered close, brushing the sleeve of his uniform against her arm. She looked at him, smiled, and walked a little straighter.

"You look tired," he murmured.

"I wish he'd make a pass and get it over with." She sighed and crossed her arms.

"I could beat him up for you."

She stopped walking. Her focus appeared to be on a point about a foot off the floor. The benign smile turned wicked. "There's a thought. Too bad you're -- "

" -- the captain. I could resign."

"No."

"You could beat him up."

Deanna dropped her arms and faced him, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "You're jealous."

"I'm no such thing! I have no reason to be jealous of some upstart lieutenant."

"Protective, then. You don't have to be. He'll fumble his way to making an overture, I'll turn him down, and that will be the end of it. It isn't as though he's obnoxious -- he's actually quite nice."

"He's young, male and human. What makes you think it would be that simple? He seems fixated on you. Then again, who can blame him?"

They resumed their meandering, passing closed cargo bay doors. He stopped, then turned back; she watched him curiously, then followed him into the bay. Lights came on high overhead. Racks of containers and stacks of yellow and orange storage units stood in neat rows.

"This isn't part of your normal walkabout routine, is it?" she asked, her soft voice echoing hollowly around them.

"You mean actually going in the cargo bays?" He glanced at labels as he went down the rows. "Not usually. Though you'd be surprised at what you can find in them, sometimes."

"Like what?" She craned her neck, trying to see the top row of the racks on the right. "I can't imagine too many surprises showing up in here. This seems to be full of spare parts for engineering."

He reached the back corner of the bay and studied an oblong grey container on the floor. Crouching, he sat on his heels and undid the latches on it. He lifted the lid, moved some packing material, took out a bottle of wine, and let the container fall shut.

"Is it yours?" she asked, smiling.

He sat on the top of the container and patted it, making a hollow thumping. She sat as requested. Both of them contemplated the label on the bottle.

"I've been saving this for a special occasion."

"Is this a special occasion?" she asked.

"One month together, no broken regs, and the best part of all -- I've managed to get you out of uniform, into a cargo bay, in the middle of the night, with a bottle of wine."

Her eyes sparkled with delight. "What a romantic you can be. Now if only there were a view."

"Shuttle bays are a little too public." He turned, leaning, and recovered the glasses he'd left under the corner of the nearest rack. Handing them to her, he produced a corkscrew from inside his jacket. "Besides, the stars in your eyes shine brightly enough. I like the view I have just fine."

She glowed, all traces of weariness or pensiveness forgotten. Slipping out of the play after intermission and preparing for this rendezvous had been worth the effort.

If he'd timed it correctly, it would soon be doubly worth it.

 

* * *

 

It figured that the last thing we were supposed to do that shift was count the containers in the cargo holds. Inventory was at the very bottom of the list of priorities but it had to be done eventually. I'd seen it on the schedule when it was originally posted a week ago, but didn't realize it would be just me down there on deck sixteen. There it was on the roster, where I hadn't noticed it before -- LaForge had two people on the other decks. When I asked Conklin, the lieutenant-commander in charge, he said Greenman had been reassigned to beta shift helm, making them one person short.

I found the corridors deserted. It gets eerie down on the lower decks, especially when it's ship's night and the lights are down. As a veteran of lonely duties like that, I used my normal countermeasures -- whistling and singing. I've been told I have a nice voice but that I could only carry a tune with a bucket and a lid. That doesn't matter when you're alone with only the cargo containers full of spanners and spare relays to keep you company.

Two cargo bays and four sappy love songs later, I launched into a tune about left-handed spanners and their many uses, and came up short at the sound of a door opening. I stood there frozen as the captain stepped out of a storage bay, turning halfway around to look behind him. He had his back to me; he held out an arm, and the counselor came out, looking flushed and a bit unsteady. The shoes she'd been wearing dangled from her fingers. The captain steadied her, gave her a gentle push up the corridor and muttered something in French -- then glanced over his shoulder.

The glare was mere seconds long, but I knew what it meant. Shut up, mind your own business.

He didn't touch her as they walked down the corridor away from me. He even straightened his uniform a little, strolling along as if he were on his way to the bridge. He had a bottle of wine tucked up under one arm. The counselor wobbled a little; he put out a hand to steady her again when necessary and keep her moving forward. They disappeared around the corner.

When I recovered from shock enough to move again, I found another wine bottle standing empty on a container in the back corner, surrounded by small wrappers. The manifest said container 158A-22 was private property of the captain, as were the three standing next to it. As I picked up the wrappers I saw crumbs of something familiar on them, identifiable with a sniff. Rich, expensive-smelling chocolate. The wrappers said 'made in Switzerland.'

I reviewed the encounters I'd had with them. I remembered after the play, when Geordi had given me that odd look -- oh, I'd missed a lot of subtle clues. But the captain hadn't missed a one.

Greenman hadn't been reassigned all of a sudden just by coincidence. I wasn't on this deck, which happened to be the one where the captain's wine was stored, by coincidence. It was too convenient, too neat and tidy to be anything but a plan.

Come to think of it, I was pretty certain the roster had originally had me on deck _fifteen_.

I wasn't terribly heartbroken, given I'd never gotten past polite conversation with the counselor. It would have been worse if I'd gotten to the point of actually asking her out. Especially if word got around that I'd hit on the captain's girlfriend -- it had to be well known if he'd meant to show up at a play with her. At first I thought it odd that I hadn't heard any gossip -- but a quick review of the attitudes of everyone I'd spoken to about the captain told me that the silence probably had more to do with respect for him. And given the years they'd spent together on the same ship, who was to say that this hadn't been going on for a long time? Old news was no news.

The captain and the counselor *did* spend quite a bit of time off duty together; in the gym, in the lounge, and I'd seen them once walking in a corridor while on my way to somewhere else on beta shift. They just didn't present the appearance of a couple in public.

Which really made sense, the more I thought about it. If they were risking it, a low public profile would be best. The senior officers obviously didn't have a problem with it, and they had to know. Ship operations weren't being interfered with -- hell, it'd taken me this long to figure it out! And he hadn't demanded that I leave her alone or otherwise made a scene publicly. He'd staged this to let me know without telling me.

Something told me that if I made a big deal out of it, he wouldn't deny it. After my lengthy conversation with him about models and everything else, I knew he was an intelligent, if not brilliant, man. I knew his reputation well enough. He would take responsibility for his actions. If he was taking the chance of conducting an intimate relationship with one of his officers, it would only be because he knew he could do it without breaking regulations. And he *was* doing it.

Easy to see why officers wanted to stay on the _Enterprise_ for years -- so many men in the captain's chair had delusions of godhood. It would have been so easy for him to simply order me away from her. He'd drawn the line very firmly. His personal affairs didn't influence his professional behavior.

And on top of it, the captain had spared me a great deal of embarrassment. I owed him.

Whistling, I made my way through the cargo bay counting and tallying items, discarded the wrappers and empty bottle, and decided that none of it had ever happened.

 

* * *

 

 

"Geordi," Jean-Luc said in greeting as he strode into the engineer's office. "You said you had something you wanted to show me?"

The engineer, leaning against the end of his desk facing the window looking out across main engineering, inclined his head toward it. Jean-Luc stopped next to him and looked.

"Looks like Bridges has gotten over his little tangent," he murmured. The lieutenant leaned against a bulkhead, smiling at a pretty blond who appreciated the attention.

"Sure does. He breezed in here with her twenty minutes ago when she reported for duty. Batris said he saw them sitting together at breakfast. I told Bridges if he was going to be here he could just work an extra shift -- didn't phase him. Don't know what reorganizing and reassigning my beta shift crew had to do with it, but if it worked. . . ." Geordi glanced at him suspiciously. "I suppose it's too much to ask what you did?"

"The counselor and I performed a surprise inspection of one of the cargo bays. And, much to my dismay, I found a bottle of my wine missing."

"Missing?"

Jean-Luc kept his face straight as he could. "Now, I won't say anything this time, Commander -- but if I ever find a bottle of wine under your desk again I'll have to put you on report."

Geordi gaped, leaned to look, and picked up the bottle tucked under his desk. "Sir. . . I don't know how. . . ."

"It's a good year," he muttered. "Probably nothing better to aid in recalibrations. Not that I would know from personal experience."

"Oh." The engineer grinned, chuckling. "Well, thanks. Since you didn't say anything about this yesterday, I can't say this is payment for a bribe, can I?"

"What's this nonsense about payment? If it's the dark-haired one who was the female lead in last night's play, I'm only looking out for your best interests."

"How did you know?" Geordi exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"Years of Beverly hounding you to be in her productions, and suddenly you take an interest in theater? She smiled at you more than once over dinner in the lounge. Give me a little credit for noticing the obvious, Geordi."

He left the engineer laughing in his office and returned to the bridge by way of his quarters. Deanna was still in bed when he came in. He tickled the bottom of a bare foot sticking out, and it disappeared under the rumpled blankets at once.

"Stop," came a muffled cry.

"I hope you don't have appointments today."

"Go away."

"Commander. . . ."

She sat up. "My head hurts," she pouted, holding it in both hands as if it might explode.

Jean-Luc retrieved the hypo he'd stashed last night from his bedside table. The stimulant took a few moments to have its complete effect; she opened her red-rimmed eyes a little wider and only looked tired, instead of tired and in pain.

"You did that on purpose. Got me drunk and disorderly."

"I didn't know you could get drunk on so little wine, Dee. I can see why you don't normally imbibe, you hold your alcohol like a sieve."

"What's a sieve?" She stumbled for the bathroom. "And stop laughing at me for not knowing!"

"I'm not -- your hair looks like squirrels played in it all night."

"If a squirrel weighs two hundred pounds I'd be inclined to think they had. I need more painkiller than that."

He waited for her, though it took longer than usual for her to become presentable by her standards. She came out in uniform looking mostly normal but for residual redness around the eyes -- but she wasn't smiling. Beautiful, but angry.

"What are you here for? Aren't you supposed to be in your ready room waiting for me to show up so you can write me up for being tardy?"

"You already told me you would be late. I suppose you don't remember that."

Her scowl deepened. "If you're stretching the truth on my behalf -- "

"You told me this morning as I was leaving. Deanna, stop it. Just go to work. I'll see you for dinner."

Finally, her shoulders lost some of the tension. "Don't ever leave me in bed and hung over that way again. If you had a hypo right there next to the -- "

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again -- I let myself get distracted. Geordi had something he wanted to show me in engineering."

"And what was so hard about giving me the stimulant last night? And what was it Geordi wanted that was so important?"

Jean-Luc stared at her and knew without a doubt that explaining everything just then would not be a good idea. Tomorrow, perhaps, or next week. Or next year. Not now when her eyes shot flames and demands at him. "Explanations can wait, Commander." He caught her in his arm as she charged for the door. "Dee. I will explain it. Trust me?"

She closed her eyes in a pained wince, then met his gaze. "All right," she murmured. "I trust you."

" _Bon, petite cygne_. To work."

They parted outside his door, as she went one way and he the other.

 

* * *

 

I found her office door and waited until her current patient left; it turned out to be Natalia Greenman I faced as she came out. Wide wary brown eyes took me in for a few moments, then she spun and marched away without a word.

Taken aback, I hesitated to get my bearings and my resolve, and punched the annunciator. The door opened, and in I went.

She looked at me blankly for a few seconds before the smile appeared -- her professional one. "Hello, Lieutenant."

"I wanted to apologize," I said before I lost the nerve. "I've made an incorrect assumption. I hope you and the captain can forgive me for being so oblivious. It's just not obvious -- one minute I thought you were together, the next I thought I was mistaken because you just don't act. . . . Though you wouldn't want to act inappropriately with the crew around and I guess it  _is_ Captain Picard, and he just doesn't seem the sort who would -- I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know I won't bother you again and I hope we can be friends."

Realization widened her eyes briefly. "Of course we can be friends, Lieutenant."

"Good. I guess I'll see you at the next concert. You'll enjoy it, the captain's got an original piece he's been working on with the group. Later," I chattered glibly.

I backed out of her office and headed off to the lounge. I was supposed to meet Dierdre for a late lunch.

It would have been so much more difficult if my thing for Deanna had gotten further than my fondest imaginations. Damn good thing the captain was on top of everything that way. 

Dierdre has the most beautiful blue eyes. . . so expressive. I love eyes you can drown in. And of course, I'd angled one of my first questions to her to find out if she were attached. I do try to learn from my mistakes, and it's always best when both parties know from the beginning what to expect. It was easier with Dierdre; she was so open and friendly, so easy to read. So expressive.

I was going to _l_ _ove_ this ship.

 

* * *

He didn't see her again until dinner, and managing to be the first one there. Having candlelight and soft music already in progress helped further his agenda. She softened the instant she came through the door, taking in the set table, the flames of the candles mirrored in her eyes.

Without a word she went in the bedroom and changed. Encouraging that she chose one of her comfortable dresses, a white sarong -- he liked the ones that tied in front. Pulling out her chair for her gave him the opportunity to touch her shoulder, run a finger along her cheek, and let her hair fall through his fingers as he drew away from her.

"You know if you let me get used to all this wine and candlelight I'll be spoiled and expect you to do it all the time," she said, watching him take his seat on her right.

"I would have expected encouragement rather than the opposite."

She gave him the classic Deanna look of fond amusement, head tilted and eyes full of happy stars. "A good day?"

"We arrive at T'laikis tomorrow morning. We should be ready for it -- Geordi has his engineers briefed and ready to go. Admiral Goodacre called again this afternoon, as if I hadn't already heard the same speech, different variation from him twice. The worst part about the day was the absence of the counselor."

"I had an interesting talk this afternoon with Lieutenant Bridges." She picked up her fork and made a pretense of stabbing a vegetable, but was looking at him and missed on her first attempt. "He apologized to me."

"Really?"

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "You don't happen to know where he got the idea I was spoken for?"

"Well. . . he was assigned to take inventory on deck sixteen last night. He was in the corridor when we left the cargo bay."

"You set that up," she exclaimed, dropping her fork on her plate. "You set up the whole thing for his benefit. Didn't you? Because during my session with Natalia Greenman, she couldn't stop talking about how exciting it was to be assigned to the beta shift helm -- and just in time to avoid inventory, too, how very convenient. And what was Geordi walking to his quarters with a bottle of Chateau Picard for? Are we giving out birthday gifts two weeks ahead of schedule?"

"Dee, I -- "

"You got me drunk so I wouldn't notice he was there. You know I hate getting drunk because it distorts my perception so wildly I don't know the floor from the ceiling, let alone sensing anyone coherently. You had Geordi rearrange the schedule last night _right in the middle of the play_ \-- he was late getting out on the stage because you sneaked out and went backstage. Because how else did Natalia end up on the bridge a couple hours into beta shift?"

"I told you I would explain," he said quietly when she finally paused long enough for him to speak.

"Why the wine? Why couldn't you tell me what you were doing?"

He paused, until he was certain she wouldn't keep shouting. "I didn't intend to get you so drunk -- you didn't react that way to the last wine you drank. You were so relaxed after we got back, and then you passed out -- you needed the sleep, obviously. You must have been tired on top of being tipsy. I was going to give you the stimulant this morning but you were asleep when Geordi called, and I let you sleep a while longer because I wasn't sure what was going to happen. He made it clear it was about Bridges. As for why I didn't tell you. . . ."

"You didn't think I would do it, and you wanted to," she finished for him.

"I couldn't let him upset you that way any longer. And I did doubt that you would cooperate, yes. I almost told you over dinner but I didn't want to cause a scene in the lounge."

It startled her to silence for a full minute, at least. It seemed longer. She stared, her eyes too full of the glitter of moisture. "You aren't supposed to interfere in ship's operations because of me, Jean-Luc!"

"How is rescheduling duty shifts interference? Did Natalia not perform well on the bridge? Did the inventory somehow suffer for it? And now Lieutenant Bridges doesn't have to suffer the ignominy of being known as the unfortunate soul who wandered around mooning after his commanding officer's lover. Geordi noticed that first day when Bridges walked into engineering after his appointment with you. Bridges wandered around the gym watching you and made himself late. Data said the whole time you were planning Geordi's birthday party, Bridges was sitting across the room watching you."

Dismay, confusion, and realization flickered in her eyes for a moment. "You're saying you did this for _his_ sake?"

"It was in all our best interests to avoid a confrontation of any sort. Short of walking up to him and telling him to back off, I couldn't think of a better way to handle it. Because if I said anything, it would come across as the captain ordering him to do it -- if you had confronted him, it would have violated your own personal empath's ethics and had the potential of damaging your working relationship with him. I couldn't ask Geordi or anyone else to do it for the same reason. No matter who approached him, it would appear to be the captain's orders, relayed through someone else. He kept wandering around looking for opportunities to approach you -- it bothered you, and me, and allowing it to continue would have created more gossip. He was being too damned obvious."

She considered it, slightly bemused. Picking up her fork, she ate absently while mulling it over further. "You're right," she said at last.

"Of course." He waved his fork at her. "You would have wanted to play it safe, and just let him continue ogling you across crowded rooms until he cautiously approached you. The more time he spent working up to it, the more cheated he would have felt. Who knows how he would have reacted when the confrontation was finally made?"

"And just when did you become an expert on this sort of thing?"

He chewed his dinner a moment, remembering, and decided the story could wait, possibly forever. "Let's just say I've seen someone else make a similar mistake, and miss out entirely as a result of his wanting to find the right occasion to make the connection."

"I see. Personal experience." Her eyes dropped at once. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have come to that conclusion."

"Don't be so afraid to speak your mind. I'd like to know what you're thinking more often. You have me at a disadvantage, after all. You know how I feel, and it isn't always obvious to me how _you_ feel."

She pressed her lips together and played with her food. "I don't want to take you for granted, Jean-Luc. The biggest mistake couples make is taking each other for granted. Forgetting how to respect each other. A large part of the danger of fraternization is over-familiarity."

He chuckled at that. "How many years have we worked together?"

"It's different now. You know that."

"Yes, it is different now." Taking up the napkin in his lap, he touched his lips with it and dropped it on the table. "I spent the majority of my life alone. I didn't know how alone, until you showed me what it could be like to not be alone. And while loneliness isn't my major motivation for having you here, I can't tell you how much it means to me, having you with me. I'm not going to take chances with this. I didn't know what he would do, and letting him know indirectly was the simplest way to prevent a potentially-damaging situation."

"But you made a unilateral decision. Though I suppose I should expect that -- you're the captain. It's your career at risk if something blows up in your face in our relationship -- I can always find work in private practice."

Her sad tone wounded him with unexpected depth, and a surge of anger at himself followed. He waited it out. So did she -- he knew she stared at him in either surprise or dismay, possibly both. He met her gaze at last, once he'd collected his thoughts and regained control.

"I've been congratulating myself on how effectively we work together, but it appears I'm lacking some consideration in the personal side of our relationship. Specifically the public side of it. It won't happen again, Dee. From now on, we handle personal issues together. I'm not going to do that to you again."

He wasn't prepared for her reaction. Her fork clattered off the edge of her plate; with both hands pressed against her mouth, she turned away, bending as if trying to hide her face.

"Deanna? Dee -- look at me, don't hide." Speaking softly didn't work. He tried a hand on her shoulder, tentative soothing strokes down her back. "What is it?"

She turned, not giving him a glimpse of her face as she slipped from her chair into his arms, climbing in his lap and clinging to him. Confused, he angled his chair away from the table and held her while she battled whatever it was she felt.

Deanna rearranged herself after a few moments of muffled half-sobs, curling against his left shoulder and putting her arm across his chest as if to balance herself. Then he felt the feathery touch of her lips on the back of his head. He shivered; it tickled, and she did it again, only lower, on his neck.

"You turn me inside out, Jean-Luc," she murmured, pushing her nose against his ear and kissing him again. "I love you."

"Good. For a moment I wondered if something I said upset -- Dee?"

She slid off, backed away a couple of paces, and stood there looking anywhere but at his face. "I should go wash my face."

"You should tell me why you're so upset."

"It's not that I'm upset. What you said overwhelmed me. It would be so easy, if I made one mistake it might cost you so much. . . ."

"So don't make mistakes that might cost too much." He smiled, studying her. But she wasn't smiling back. "Can you at least trust me with my own career, Deanna? I chose this -- you chose it, too. We understand the risks. I should have talked to you about it because it involved you. If you had seen what I intended, you probably would have participated. If not, we would have thought of something else. Correct?"

At last, she smiled, rolling her eyes, sheepish and pushing her knuckles against her lips. "You mean such as talking to the man?"

"That was an option I rejected, but in retrospect should have reconsidered." He put his hands as if being held at gunpoint. "But. . . ."

"But I wasn't open to it either," she said, gazing downward sadly.

"The situation is resolved, regardless of how well we did not manage it," he said. "Or did the lieutenant indicate otherwise?"

"He thanked me. He apologized. But that should not be the measure of whether what we did was correct."

"Yes. I agree. If there is another similar instance we will indeed handle it differently. We will not allow our anxiety over whether we are handling it poorly keep us from handling it at all," he said.

Her eyes came up to meet his. It appeared, despite her discomfort, that she had recovered enough to smile with genuine affection.

"So. . . how am I feeling now?"

Her cheeks flushed and her dimples appeared. "Like I should take off my clothes?"

"You've misread me. I was trying to get you to come back over here so I could take off your clothes."

"What if I tried to lure you this way, by starting to take them off?" She untied the knot over her left hip and slowly backed away from him. When he lunged after her, she left him with only a handful of dress -- then the whole dress as she spun out of it and streaked for the bedroom.

He dropped it and went after her. When he'd searched bedroom and bathroom and not found her, he hesitated, confused -- there weren't any hiding places.  But there was one hiding place. He shoved the door open and found her jammed in among the uniforms and dresses hanging there.

"I knew you were a closet nudist," he exclaimed, going in after her.

"Oh, no -- Jean-Luc," she cried, as clothes cascaded down around them. "There's no room!"

"Incentive to jettison some of the excess baggage," he said, pitching a shoe aside.

"Or get a bigger closet -- are you sure you want to -- "

"You're the one who got in here. Want out?" She seemed unconcerned seconds later as he kissed her. When it got to a point at which both of them wanted more comfortable arrangements, they had a good laugh about the boot print on her posterior.

But, like anything else, it didn't slow them down much.


End file.
